


The Words Catch In Your Throat

by stileskolpath



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Derek Feels, Derek Has Issues, Derek Loves Stiles, M/M, Prompt Fill, Sterek arguments, Stiles Feels, Stiles Loves Derek
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-05
Updated: 2013-08-05
Packaged: 2017-12-22 11:29:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,789
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/912674
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stileskolpath/pseuds/stileskolpath
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stiles decides to confront Derek about his past, and gets a little too emotionally involved. Mostly because he wants to talk to the  Alpha about something else. Derek doesn't think it is a good idea.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Words Catch In Your Throat

**Author's Note:**

> So the idea for this story was submitted to me by the always amazing Cookiefic, who is a fellow Sterek shipper and fantastic writer. I hope this story does her idea justice. Enjoy reading!
> 
> You can find her blog here: www.cookiesees.tumblr.com
> 
> I hope you guys like this story, if you notice any typos or problems, please don't hesitate to let me know!
> 
> Thanks! Enjoy!
> 
> -SK

The conversation with Peter and Cora had left a bad taste in Stiles’ mouth. Mostly it was Peter. The guy was just not right. Enh, who would be after their entire family is murdered, they themselves killed, only later to be resurrected from the dead?

Still no excuse, though. Stiles had made the connection. He managed to see that Peter’s story lacked… something. Truth, most likely. Stiles was trying to sort out the true bits from the fictional ones, and it was damn near impossible. He had to find Derek. And he had a sneaky suspicion he knew just where the alpha was. So he left the loft and made his way to the jeep, turning the engine over and heading out of town. He didn’t quite remember where the old distillery was, and considering the apparent convergence of all things abandoned around Beacon Hills, it might have been difficult to find.

But Stiles had been there before. Just once. And it was a long time ago. He knew the way, mostly, and what parts he didn’t jumped back into his mind as soon as his jeep started bumping and squeaking over the uneven dirt road. Before long, he had cleared the woods, and was driving through a large, hilly clearing. The Distillery was just ahead, perched midway up on a set of hills that commanded a surprisingly good view of the forested expanse that surrounded the town.

As he pulled up into the field near the main entrance, Stiles sat in the jeep for a few minutes, willing himself to step out of it. He knew Derek was watching him. He knew that he had to use some kind of tact to talk to the werewolf about this, but at the same time, he knew he would probably fuck it up. Royally. With a sigh, he stepped out of the jeep into the early-evening sun. It was setting, almost to the horizon, actually, and everything was colored in a reddish-orange. It was deep, and the darkness was beginning to creep in.

Stiles did not want to be out here at night. Too many creepy things happened around Beacon Hills at night. Especially lately. Especially if he was wrong and Derek was somewhere else. Then he was probably ripe for the taking by the Darach, or whatever-the-fuck-else was currently stalking the too-oblivious citizenry of the northern Californian town.

Stiles walked up to the slightly-ajar door, eyes attempting to adjust as he poked his head in. “Derek?" He whispered cautiously. No answer. Not even a sound. “Derek?" He was louder that time, saying it closer to normal volume levels as he crossed the threshold.

"What are you doing here, Stiles?" Stiles jumped. Literally jumped two feet into the air, an embarrassing yelp escaping his lips as he whipped around clumsily. Derek was leaning up against the wall next to the entrance, not three feet away from where Stiles was standing. Regardless, it sounded like Derek had whispered his question into Stiles’ ear. It made the hairs on the back of his neck stand up, and his heart threaten to break through his ribs. Stiles bent down, resting his hands on his knees, trying to catch his breath after he landed.

"Holyfuckingshit, Derek. You can’t do that to someone. You could have freaking killed me." Stiles tried to get his heart under control. He was dangerously close to a panic attack. It almost made him not regret inadvertently making a ‘killing’ joke in front of the werewolf. Almost.

Stiles could feel Derek’s sullen scowl from the corner of the dim room. Knowing Derek, he probably should have felt it when he was still in the jeep too. “We need to talk. Peter told Cora and me a story tonight. I don’t really believe it. I also have it on good authority that Peter is a conniving little fuck."

Derek chuckled quietly. “That is the smartest thing I have ever heard you say."

Stiles decided to sidestep the insult. He had bigger fish to fry. Or in this case, wolves to talk to? No, it didn’t work. Oh, well. He considered it briefly, only to realize that Derek was still talking.

"—What story did he tell you?" Stiles looked around warily.

"The one about Paige." He could feel Derek grow tense instantly. He saw it too, but mostly he felt it. Stiles knew the amount of pain it must be bringing up just to think about it. He felt a pang of guilt. Why was he doing this again?

Oh, right. Because for some stupid reason, Stiles cared about the alpha who was hiding in the shadows of this place. And he had watched all year as bad things happened to him and the people he loved. Stiles had been watching these things happen for the last two years, actually. And he knew that if he didn’t try to help the alpha, that at some point, no one else would be able to. And Derek would do something stupid in his anger, or his sadness, or something, and get himself killed.

And that made something internally tighten in Stiles. He couldn’t describe what it was, but it made his gut twist in anxiety, and labored his breathing. It made his heart flutter dangerously, and his face grow hot. He couldn’t let that happen. He couldn’t live with himself if he could help and chose not to. He couldn’t live with himself if there might be a chance that he could save Derek, and he didn’t take it.

So, naturally, instead of adhering to the carefully-thought-out plan of what he was going to say, Stiles’ traitor-mouth decided to put into words the first thing that came to his mind.

"So did you kill her or not?" Stiles wanted to punch himself as soon as the words left his mouth. Derek’s eyes shifted briefly to red, throwing the rest of his features into sharp relief, briefly. Then, he blinked, and the red was gone, and Derek returned to a silhouette against the wall. The sun was almost down, and it had severely darkened the place. Which Stiles still thought was creepy as hell.

Much to Stiles’ surprise, the werewolf didn’t clam up, or leave, or even yell at Stiles. He just gave a jagged sigh. “Yes. I didn’t have a choice."

Stiles inched closer. “I know. That part of Peter’s story I figured was true. It was the rest of it that I was worried about."

Derek was silent. Stiles continued. “The problem that I have, though, is seeing Peter as the reasonable one. The one who tried to stop you from doing it. I just don’t buy it. Or the part about him being your best friend. Again, I just, don’t buy it."

Stiles’ eyes were adjusting to the dark a little more. He could see Derek drop his eyes to the ground and stare at it for a long time. Stiles almost expected what he said next. “It doesn’t matter. I’m the one who killed her. Me. I was selfish, and it got her killed… It got them all killed."

"Derek, why do you do that? Did I say that? Does anyone actually say that to you?" Stiles couldn’t help but feel the anger welling up inside him. “Does anyone actually fucking blame you for what happened to them?" Stiles could feel his pulse hammering away in his veins as he said it. Well, not said, more like yelled. It was a quick escalation, Stiles would admit, but the werewolf pissed him off sometimes.

It was Derek’s turn to yell. “They don’t have to. I know it. They know it. It doesn’t make any fucking difference whether or not they say it." Stiles could tell that he was dangerously close to wolfing out, but he persisted.

"Yes it does," Stiles tried to deliberately make his voice sound calmer than it was, taking a deep breath in the process. He took the final few steps towards the werewolf, who was glaring at him, knowing full well that if Derek wanted to kill him, he could just as easily do it from across the room as he could from a few inches away. “Yes it does. If I—or anyone thought that you were responsible for any of this awful shit that happens to you, don’t you think that we would say something?"

"Isn’t that why you are here?" Derek’s words were almost a growl. Stiles raised his eyebrows in surprise.

"No, you asshole. It isn’t." Stiles bit off the words. Derek was, as always, pissing him off. “I’m here to keep you from doing something stupid without thinking about the repercussions." Stiles completely forgot that he was actually at the creepy-as-fuck distillery to figure out the rest of Peter’s story from the only reliable narrator he knew of.

Derek scoffed. Stiles cut him off. “And don’t even try that whole I-know-the-repercussions-I’m-going-to-charge-headlong-into-there-and-get-myself-killed-thing. That doesn’t help anyone."

"It would, though." The worst part is that the werewolf actually believed it.

“No. It wouldn’t, Derek. For all your fucking power, you have zero ability to see what is right in front of your fucking face." Stiles was standing in that spot now. “You dying will make the people who love you suffer. And before you deny that," Stiles raised a hand when he saw the alpha try to open his mouth. “Just let me finish. Just let me tell you what I think."

The moon had come up, and Stiles could see better. Derek had returned to leaning against the wall. His face adopted a this’ll-be-good expression, and he crossed his arms over his chest.

Stiles continued. “You did kill Paige. It was a mistake. And you have had to live with it. At the time, I think that it was too much to deal with. That is why Kate happened.” Derek’s eyebrows betrayed his surprise. He hadn’t known that Stiles knew about that. Stiles continued as if he didn’t notice, though. “But that wasn’t your fault either."

"Stiles—"

"No, let me finish. She took advantage of you, of your state of mind, and used it to kill your family. None of that is your fault. You weren’t even fucking there. She did that because she, like almost all the other Argents, didn’t follow the code. Not your fault."

"Stiles—" Derek growled. Stiles persisted anyway.

"I’m not done. Laura wasn’t your fault either. Peter, the perfect little sociopath that he is, is responsible for that. And as long as we are on the subject, I should never have accused you of that. I had no idea at the time. I’m sorry." Stiles was legitimately sorry for that. He knows how much trouble it had caused the alpha, and how much he hated him for it at the time.

Derek raised his eyebrows in surprise, whatever he was about to say stopped dead in its tracks. Stiles took that as permission to continue. “Jackson, Erica, Boyd, all of them were not. Your. Fault. Jackson had some kind of unresolved issues. He was a dickhead. The fact that the bite didn’t take was not your doing. It was his own. That is why he became what he did. Also, Erica and Boyd wanted the bite. They made that choice, one way or the other. It wasn’t like Paige. She didn’t have a choice. But you learned from her that it was important that they choose. And them getting killed—again, not your fault. It was the Alphas. They did it. They used you to do it. You were a new alpha when they left. You were bound to make some mistakes. The alphas exploited that.

"But I killed Boyd…" Derek said his words to the ground, not to Stiles.

"No. You didn’t. Kali did. Ethan did. Aiden did. You," Stiles chanced jabbing a finger into Derek’s chest, “didn’t." Derek responded only with silence.

"So you need to stop with the whole self-inflicted guilt thing." Stiles made relatively circular hand motions for emphasis. “Because it doesn’t help anyone. Believe me, I know."

Derek looked up at him. “How. How on earth could you possibly know that?"

Stiles just stared the werewolf down. “Because I do. I’ve been there, Derek. I know what it is like to lose family. I have felt what you are feeling," Stiles reached out and put a hand over Derek’s heart. It was beating abnormally fast. “I felt it myself." He was surprised when Derek didn’t push his hand away immediately.

"It’s not the same." Derek muttered, prying his gaze off of Stiles and brushing his hand away.

Stiles moved to meet Derek’s eyes once more. “Really? It isn’t? Why? Because you were older when it happened, and should have known better? Or what? What was it, Derek? Because let me tell you something. When you are ten years old and your parent dies, you have no choice. You automatically think it is your fault. And no one can understand to tell you that it wasn’t."

Derek just tried to look away again. But he didn’t leave. Stiles counted it as a win, albeit a small one. “It is the same. You can try to fight it, but it is true."

"No it’s not. Stiles, you still have family. You still have Scott. Lydia and Allison too. You aren’t alone."

"You have Cora and Peter. You have Scott, whether you like it or not. You have Isaac. You have me."

Derek scoffed again, but looked up at Stiles questioningly, eyebrows doing their usual thing again. The human’s heart skipped a beat inexplicably. “You?”

Stiles sighed. He guessed now was as good a time as any. “Yes, me. What, just because you haven’t bitten me doesn’t make me pack?”

“I just… Never thought of it like that.”

“Derek, why do you think I am here?” Silence. Stiles was unperturbed.

“Because I care. For some stupid, goddamn reason, I care about you. And I am tired of watching this shitstorm of your life seesaw from not totally terrible to fantastically, mercilessly horrible and back. And the worst part is, while shit happens to everyone, you internalize it and make it all your fault.” Stiles was right in Derek’s face at this point. The werewolf was probably not enjoying the encroachment into his bubble, but Stiles was unfazed. Derek remained silent anyway. Stiles preferred to think that the werewolf was letting his words sink in.

“Stiles, why do you care about me at all?” Now it was Stiles’ turn to be silent. Stunned was more like it.

Once again, Stiles’ traitor-mouth ruins the thought before he can fully form it.

“I don’t know.” Stiles did know. He did. He wanted to say it. Ugh, why did his mouth hate him so much? With much strength, he managed to follow it up with “I just do.” He tried not to let his emotions boil to the surface, knowing full well that Derek would be able to sense them. But it was no use.

Then again, maybe it might help. So Stiles let them come. He let his feelings wash over him. He allowed himself to feel the rage at Derek for keeping him at a distance, for ignoring him, or generally treating him like shit over the past three years. He felt the fear of losing the werewolf each time he charged headlong into a fight he had no chance of winning, and the sadness he felt when he knew it was done with that knowledge in mind. He tempered these with his feeling of happiness, albeit slight, when he would make a comment that would threaten to break the alpha’s usually-impenetrable scowls, and the corners of his mouth would twitch in response. He even let slip the warm, electric feeling he got the few times they touched. Even that night in the pool, freezing cold, with Derek essentially dead weight, Stiles had felt that, and it was what kept him treading water for that little eternity that he did. And again, the night that Boyd died, when Stiles had reached out, and put a hand on the broken alpha’s shoulder, just to show him that he was there.

It took him a second to reel it all back in, especially once he felt his face grow hot with the weight of his emotions. He could feel his ears redden in the darkness, and the tears come to his eyes.

Then Stiles heard Derek move. Goddamn it was dark in there. He felt a hand gently graze his own, and felt warm breath on his neck. Derek was inches from him, inhaling the scent that Stiles was certainly giving off.

“I- I- never knew…” The werewolf was, as always, having trouble with words.

Stiles wiped his eyes with the back of his palm. “Yeah, well, you would have, if you had let me tell you.”

“Stiles,” Derek said quietly. “You can’t feel like this, it won’t work. It’s not a good idea.” It sounded more like a question than a statement, as if Derek was trying to reassure himself that Stiles didn’t care, and was failing at it.

“No. You don’t get to tell me what I can, and cannot, feel. Especially when it comes to you.” Stiles drove a finger pointedly into what he assumed was Derek’s chest emphatically. It hurt his finger.

“I’m not. I’m telling you that you shouldn’t feel anything for me. Let alone want to be near me.” Stiles sensed the statement was unfinished, so he remained silent, words he wanted to say shouting themselves down inside his head.

When the werewolf didn’t continue, Stiles asked the obvious question. “Why? Why shouldn’t I feel anything for you, or even be near you? Why? Why? Give me one good reason.”

“Because you are too good for me.” Derek said it quietly enough to where Stiles would normally have had trouble hearing it, but given how close they were standing in the darkness, it was loud and clear.

The statement would normally have been a compliment, and in any other situation, with any other pair of people, would have driven them into each other’s arms, or at the very least, toward some kind of healthy conversation about the lack of truth behind those words. Instead, it made Stiles simply turn away from the werewolf, and make his way back through the metal door to the jeep. He knew trying to reason with Derek would be fruitless, as the alpha was almost as stubborn as he was.

So Stiles left. Derek heard the tires crunching over the gravel as Stiles drove away, but even that sound wasn’t as loud as the hammering of the human’s heart in his chest, which was growing fainter by the second. He hated himself.

**

He hated himself more when Stiles showed up at the loft a week later, nothing in tow but some greasy chinese take-out, slurping a soda.

He had been thinking about what the human had said when they had last met, and it kept him up almost every night. He was terribly conflicted.

“What are you doing here, Stiles?”

“What do you think?”

“Go away.”

“You can’t keep me out forever.”

Derek didn’t respond. Instead he just sowled and walked into the kitchen, trying to calm his mind by pacing back and forth. He heard Stiles unwrap the food he brought, and switch on the tv, his heartbeat as loud and frantic as ever. His scent was teeming with anxiety, but he was taking great care not to show it on his face.

After about thirty minutes, when Derek didn’t come out, Stiles came and found him. He was still slurping on that damn soda, and Derek definitely did not notice how adorable the human looked doing it.

Derek avoided his gaze until Stiles swallowed, and then proceeded to jump right to the point.

“Why do you think that you aren’t good enough for me?” He was leaning against the cabinets, arms crossed, soda dripping condensation onto the countertop.

Derek gave him a side-glare and leaned over the sink, willing the human to go away. He ventured no answer, and Stiles took that as tacit permission to continue speaking.

“I mean, what possible reason do you have to validate that statement? Because it either means that a) you think i am perfect, which i highly doubt, but wouldn’t mind, or b) you don’t think that i even barely comprehend the amount of damage your past has done to you, and you unjustifiably blame yourself for it.”

If there was a nail protruding from the reasoning that held Derek’s whole worldview together, Stiles would have just single-handedly hit it right on the head. Because despite all of Stiles’ reassurances during their last conversation, about how his family, Laura, Erica, and Boyd weren’t his fault, Derek still couldn’t shake the guilt that he had held onto for so many years, that if he had been a better person, a better alpha, had gotten to them quicker, or had been less trusting, none of them would be dead. And knowing now what Stiles felt for him, he couldn’t help but fear that somehow, in someway, history would repeat itself, that Stiles would need him, or would be in danger, and he wouldn’t be able to get to him. Instead of worrying about that, or letting it gnaw at him, the werewolf knew it would be simpler to keep the human at a distance, regardless of how it made him feel.

He was quiet for a long time, lost in his own thoughts. He didn’t even realize when Stiles came up behind him, wrapped his long arms around the werewolf’s midsection, and squeezed gently, resting the side of his head on Derek’s shoulder.

Derek seemed to be straining with the effort of turning his thoughts into words, and what he came up with didn’t do his feelings justice. “Stiles. Everyone around me gets hurt.”

The human didn’t answer at first, and just sighed sadly. The sound tore at Derek’s insides, threatening to squeeze his heart to stop its traitorous tightening at the thought.

“You know that’s not true,” the human said into the werewolf’s shoulder, “and even if it was, it still doesn’t mean that it is your fault.” Stiles pulled back, and turned the alpha around to look at him, wrapping lithe fingers around his biceps in the process. Derek would be lying to himself if he said didn’t feel the electricity that snapped between them at the contact. “This won’t be a mistake, Derek. Can’t you get that?” Stiles shook the werewolf’s arms lightly for emphasis. His eyes were shifting back and forth between the downturned alpha’s, who finally looked up.

He asked weakly, “how can you be so sure?”

“I’m not.” Stiles said matter-of-factly, and Derek tried to look at the ground again, but the human put a finger underneath his chin and dragged the werewolf’s eyes back up to his own. “But, you are just going to have to trust me.” Stiles must have sensed the look on Derek’s face, because he seemed to stop mid-thought and asked, “You can hear if I am lying, right?”

“Yeah,” Derek answered, hearing shifting focus to the human’s heartbeat.

“Good, then listen closely,” His face was inches from Derek’s, and he moved his hand from the werewolf’s chin to relax against the side of his neck, “to my words and my heart. If I am lying, you will know.”

Derek didn’t say anything. His eyes left Stiles’ and focused on the human’s lips as he began speaking.

“Derek, I am not perfect. I am not innocent. I have made mistakes. I am just as broken as you are. I have lost people. I have demons. I am not Kate. Or Paige. Or…” Stiles had trouble saying her name, out of the wounds they still brought to the surface. “Or Blake. I don’t want to use you. I don’t want to hurt you. I just want you, regardless of how much better than you you think I am.”

He smiled slightly and paused, and watched as Derek’s eyes shifted to stare into his own. “If I get hurt because of this, it is not because of you. I made the choice. I am making it.” He swallowed, the courage and pride that accompanied his words drowned in an instant, replaced by anxiety. Derek could hear his heartbeat pick up, but not in preparation for a lie. The timbre and flutter of it were a tell of sorts, of something that Derek had not heard in another heartbeat in a very long time. Stiles continued.

“Because I really like you, Derek. I really really do. And I have for a very long time.” Now it was Stiles’ turn to avert his gaze, dropping his hand from the werewolf’s neck, his skin remembering the ghost of the contact. Derek was rendered more speechless than usual. He hadn’t heard a single lie. He hadn’t expected to, but it still surprised him. He returned Stiles’ earlier gesture, and pulled his chin up so that the human had no choice but to look him in the eyes. He looked at the human, stared deep into the amber-brown portals that normally were happy, or sarcastic, or some kind of happily evil combination of both. Right now however, Derek could tell that they just wanted to know, one way or the other.

He leaned in, and placed a soft kiss on Stiles’ lips. He tried to pour everything he was feeling into it as their lips found each other. The human didn’t immediately kiss him back, but rather, kind of sighed into it, wrapping his hands around the werewolf’s waste, and toying with the hem of his shirt. It was enough for the alpha. He pulled back slightly, his lips protesting the sudden loneliness, his hips enjoying the weight of the human pressed into him. “I like you too.”

Stiles smiled.

In truth, Derek had loved, not liked, Stiles for as long, if not longer than Stiles knew. Part of him had known it when he met the human in the woods with Scott three years ago. The rest of him just refused to see it. And for as much as he wanted to keep Stiles away, he knew that it was impossible. The kid was persistent. And one way or the other, he would have slipped under the wire, and broken down all of Derek’s defenses. The fear would still be there. The constant, nagging worry that something would happen to the human because of him, or that he himself would do something to hurt Stiles, inadvertently. But Derek knew that Stiles could handle himself. He had proven that before. The alpha quietly promised himself to never hurt Stiles, no matter what the cost, and to protect him as much as he possibly could, even if it meant his life.

Then Derek realized what the tell in Stiles’ heartbeat was. Love. He smiled. It wasn’t something he did often, but Stiles seemed to be visibly affected by it. He chuckled slightly and pulled the werewolf into him again by the front of his shirt. Derek closed his eyes and savored it, the sensation, the comfort and excitement it brought. This time, he let Stiles decide when it ended, which was after several moments, of sharp intakes of breath, the slick, wet contact of tongues, and the uttering of small, meant-to-be-stifled moans from them both. Only when Stiles pulled his head back and opened his eyes, did Derek dare let thoughts back into his mind.

The human pulled him in close into an embrace that felt nothing but warmth. The werewolf felt as Stiles rested his mouth in the crook of his neck, and felt the brush of his eyelashes against his faceas he closed his eyes, a deep hum emanating from his chest.

Derek turned his face slightly, and whispered into the human’s ear. “You lied to me before, you know. When you said you liked me, and have for a long time. I could hear it in your heartbeat.” Derek felt the bob Stiles’ throat as he swallowed, his scent adopting an instant twinge of fear. “You don’t like me.” It was a statement. But it was unfinished. Stiles gulped again, his eyes opening, as if he was preparing to pull back. Instead, he spoke.

“You’re right.” Stiles pulled back from the alpha to look into his seafoam green-and-gold-flecked eyes. “I love you. I have, for a while now.” His heartbeat did that thing again.

Interestingly enough, so did Derek’s.

Derek smiled into Stiles’ shoulder. “Me too. I’m sorry I didn’t see it, and you, for so long.”

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you liked the story! Feel free to check out the rest of my stuff (Sterek stuff, lets be real) at my tumblr: www.watchthewolvesrun.tumblr.com
> 
> If you have any comments, questions, or prompt ideas, please send them my way!
> 
> Thanks for reading!
> 
> -Stiles Kolpath


End file.
